My Boyfriend the Television, and other shorts
by passionatescreams
Summary: A series of several drabbles tracing the funny road that is Draco and Hermione's relationship.
1. My Boyfriend, the Television

**It's a little late for a Christmas story, I know. But I wrote it months ago and finally decided to post it. **

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"I can't believe you're dragging me to this stupid party, Harry," Hermione grumbled as she struggled to pull on her boots. "You know I like spending Christmas Eve at home with the television."

"It's time you meet someone new, Hermione. Your television can't be your boyfriend forever," he sighed.

"With those great holiday movies? It can certainly try!"

—

The party was a hustle and bustle of old classmates and ugly Christmas sweaters. Hermione hated it. Socialising had never been her strong point and it seemed like every female in the room was wearing some version of a slutty Santa dress. Perhaps the blue she was wearing was not the best choice.

Harry soon left her to find Ginny, and she was left alone in the middle of too many people she did not wish to see. It was too late that she realised Harry had left her under mistletoe, for someone had already approached her with a smirk on his face.

"Nice mistletoe you're standing under, Granger."

"Fuck the mistletoe, Malfoy. You're not kissing me."

He grinned. "Would you really defy tradition on Christmas Eve?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Just one kiss, it won't hurt."

She scowled at him before quickly reaching up and pecking him on the lips, then took a generous step away from both the man and the wreath.

He simply took a step forward. "You know, I'm sure you don't really like these parties. Do you wanna go back to my place and watch Christmas movies?"

Hermione looked around her and back at Malfoy. Seven years they'd been friends since the war, and she still found his kindness a little strange. But compared to the shithole she was in right now, he was the better option. So, she shrugged and said, "Sure."


	2. Ugly Sweater Weather

There was boisterous laughter everywhere, and Draco was not having it. One year after having his controversial relationship with Hermione ousted to the world, he found himself in the midst of flaming red hair and too many freckles; his head was spinning and he was overwhelmed with a desire to throttle himself.

That was, until, Hermione came over to him, a smirk on her face. The conniving gleam in her eyes never bode well for Draco.

"Draco, Mrs. Weasley's made you a Christmas present!" Her face broke into a large smile.

"Er, what is it?" He was never one to turn down a gift, though he wasn't sure he really wanted one from a Weasley.

She placed a neatly wrapped package into his hands as Mrs. Weasley herself walked up.

Draco uneasily tore away at the wrapping, being careful not to rip it, and took out the knitted garment.

"It's a Christmas sweater!" Hermione beamed at him.

There was a look in Draco's eyes that neither Hermione nor Mrs. Weasley had expected to see—something like longing. They saw it in the way he gently stroked the deep green fabric, and the awe with which he stared at the large M design once he shook it out. His finger trailed the silver snake entwined with the letter.

His face quickly morphed back into a blank slate when he looked at the two women again, however. "You are ridiculous," Draco said, shaking his head. "I've never even worn a Christmas sweater before, I shouldn't start now."

"Nonsense! There's a first time for everything!" Mrs. Weasley tutted.

He sighed, with a touch of reluctance. "I guess I'll go try it on," he said, walking to the bathroom.

When Draco came back into the party, Hermione gave him a broad smile as her eyes took in the sight of her boyfriend in something so out of character. Taking his arm and leading him to Ginny, she continued her conversation on the abominable new fashion trend that was ugly christmas wear while Draco looked on in a considerably better mood than he was in before.


	3. Family Gathering

Draco had already met the Weasleys, had essentially been inducted into their family and accepted as one of them. That had been the easy part. But now it was time to meet Hermione's real family, and he was bloody _horrified. _Impressing them would be simple—he was, after all, a Malfoy, and he impressed everyone he met. It was much harder, however, to do the more important job of gaining their approval.

He didn't know what muggles were like! What did muggles even do for fun? Did they spend all their time making up for the fact that they didn't have magic and pretending that they were happy? He wasn't quite sure he understood their sorry existence but for Hermione's sake he certainly had to try.

His girlfriend drove them (yes, he had gotten into a bloody muggle car) to her parents' house, both of them in a contemplative silence.

Hermione opened her mouth just once, to ask, "Are you ready for this?"

He gave her a look of pure panic. She chuckled softly.

When they arrived, Hermione was pulled into a tight hug by both of her parents, with snippets of 'oh, you look so lovely in that dress,' and 'mum, did you get a haircut?' escaping the huddle to fall on Draco's ears.

When they let go of each other, Mrs. Granger turned to Draco and pulled him into her arms as well. He was astonished. Draco Malfoy was not a hugger. He only ever hugged Hermione and even _that _was still strange for him.

"You must be Draco! We've heard so much about you."

He smiled. "Have you? I'm certain Hermione only tells you the awful things."

"Of course not! But I'd like to get to know you myself," Mr. Granger said, thumping his hand on Draco's back with a playful gleam in his eyes.

Draco paled, noticeably. "Of course." Muggle fathers were just as protective of their daughters, it seemed.

They walked into the house, Hermione's mother taking her aside to whisper, "He's so handsome!"

"I know," Hermione responded, grinning.


	4. Two Years and A Day

The day before their two year anniversary, Draco asked Hermione if she wanted to do anything special.

She scoffed at him. "I'd rather not. Let's have a normal day tomorrow, okay?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "But it's a special day! We have to!"

"Is it really that important to you that we do?"

"Yes."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Let's not celebrate tomorrow. Instead, let's celebrate two years and a day. Two days from now."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed even more. "But that's so...odd."

"We _are_ a pretty odd pair," she said, chuckling. "And 'two years and a day' has a very nice ring to it."

He sighed. "Fine. But I get to pick what we do."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

In the end, Draco took her out dancing. He was dressed to the nines, with a 2,000 quid suit and a freshly bloomed rose in his front pocket. In short, when Hermione first laid her eyes on him, her breath seemed to have fled and she could not stop staring. Her emerald floor length gown seemed to wilt in comparison.

"I can see you undressing me with your eyes, you know," Draco said to her, smirking.

"It's not like you're not doing the same thing!" She retorted.

He took her by side-along apparation to the most fancy, most uppity, and most exclusive club he could find-just to annoy her-and laughed at her indignant expression.

"You are insane, Draco."

"Two years and a day mean a very special night indeed, Hermione."

With that, the two lovers danced until their feet were sore, and then danced some more.


	5. Piano Kisses

**This is a bit angstier than usual but I rather liked it, I hope you guys will too. **

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She wakes up to a melody she hasn't heard in years. It reminds her of the phoenix song Fawkes sang, a beautiful set of notes that she used to think could never be made into a piano piece. Her eyes stay closed for several moments as she listens, the music washing over her like cool water and giving her the feeling she is spectator to a very private show. When she finally brings herself to crack open her eyes, she is thrust into a blackness darker than the insides of her eyelids, and the only thought in her mind is to find Draco, to see with her own eyes that he has finally brought himself to play the piano again. She follows the light shining through the crack under her bedroom door and creaks it open.

When she pads out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she is met with something she has hoped for, for a very long time. Draco is hunched over the grand piano, face scrunched up in concentration. She can only see his profile, but his eyes have dark bags underneath them, their whites bloodshot. His fingers are truly dancing over the keys—it feels like a seductive tango, as if he's trying to romance the instrument into obeying him. He is succeeding, and Hermione feels almost jealous of the big wooden thing. The piece is literal perfection, as if he isn't rusty from all those years of avoiding playing. His fingers, which are skinny, spindly, spidery, are simply gorgeous. Elegance glides from them onto the ivory, an ivory as pale as him. The tendons in his hands stick out, creating smooth bumps which only accentuate his thinness, and yet when he is playing they look almost like they too, are moving in time to the music. Every part of Draco is dancing out with his song, and Hermione swears, she's never seen him glow like this.

She hasn't heard him play since before the war—a stolen half hour in a secluded classroom she happened to stumble into. He never found out she heard him then, and she wonders if she should surprise him now.

"Stop staring, Hermione," he suddenly says, breaking off mid-note.

"Please don't stop playing, then," she whispers, gently.

He turns his head to face her. "Come sit next to me," he says, a questioning tone only barely there. When she does, his eyes return to the keys and he resumes playing. "This was my mother's favourite piece," he says quietly. "She told me she wanted me to play it at her funeral. But I couldn't do it, Hermione. I couldn't do it."

She waits for tears to fall, but they remain stubbornly in his clouded eyes. So instead, she pauses his perfect fingers and wraps her arms around him, hugging tightly. She has no words to say; his grief is too fresh to heal. Instead, she presses her lips to his cheek and holds him, letting the sun rise into a new day.


End file.
